


Smoke

by ColeMight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColeMight/pseuds/ColeMight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock Holmes let out an elongated moan as the liquid moved from the syringe into his veins Nearly five years of sobriety finished in a little over three seconds.. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very short late night musing about a Brilliant piece of Fan Art a friend sent me. I am unaware of the artist, but all the credit goes to them. Subject to change/ expansion. 
> 
> ***I do not own Sherlock Holmes***

Sherlock Holmes let out an elongated moan as the liquid moved from the syringe into his veins Nearly five years of sobriety finished in a little over three seconds.. This wasn’t the bliss his mind had been craving but it was a close second. A rush of chemical pleasure ran through him and all was quite. The euphoria over whelmed him, as it began to play trick with his vision as well as his hearing. In place on the true silence in the room was a mimic, a false whisper of what sounded like a piano. It seemed strange that instrument won out over the obvious choice. Stranger still the lack of discernible tune was still a haunting melody sending chills up his spine, but Sherlock was far too gone to delve any deeper into that specific thought.  
It was when his eyes began to glaze that the hallucinations hit him full swing. Wisps of smoke surrounding him, caressing his skin, forming into the images he had long since back logged in to his mid palace. Of chess pieces; cracked and aging. A knight. Or of the man sitting across from him with the Cheshire grin. This was all his fault and he knew it. If it weren’t for him everything would be normal. He wouldn’t be alone in an empty flat, missing the people he had to protect. The people who moved on without him.  
The detective leaned forward; elbows on knees, head in hands and his nightmarish visions came to a crescendo. The smoke had maneuvered to be spiders crawling from under the furniture and goulash creatures soaring around his head. Mocking him. They all burned around him. He was to go mad from this, it was decided. He was to remain in this state until his mind was so far gone there was no coming back.  
The piano music was almost unbearable.  
“Sherlock?” A voice registered faintly. “Oh god, Sherlock.” The touch that came with it was soft and solid. It was, unlike the lashing from the creatures, real. Two fingers slowly raised his chin, guiding his eyes to a face. It was tan, and warm, and familiar.  
John…  
“What have you done?”


End file.
